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Sunday, 22 February 2015

I wrote about internalised ableism, suicidal ideation, internetting whilst insane, candy crush and Robin Williams for the first issue of DH because yeah.

U can read more stuff (that isn't me being a whiny piss baby) here, including an interview I did with Kate Zambreno, one I did with the Coven, another with Angela Deane and a bunch of other cool shit that doesn't involve me (thank god) like that's the cool thing about being an editor. Cool shit beyond your own ego. And my own ego is fucking repulsive so.

Playing with a pet is not enough, and perhaps you don't own a pet. Or I don't. I don't know. Taking a walk is not right either. I don't have a lawn to trim, and if I do, I do not care to. Suicide is a long-term solution to a short-term problem. But if executed properly it can be a short-term solution to a long-term problem. That makes no sense, but stay with me. What depression needs is a little death (a little suicide). Napping is a little death, staying in bed all day is a slightly bigger little death, falling asleep in a bath with the lights out is a little death. Sometimes self-care does not work you (I) just need to die. But that death does not to be of the ugly kind. Make it a little death. And then come back like Christ. They can poke at your absence if they like, and they will, and that is not a bad thing. Not the worst thing. I have died a lot of little deaths to avoid a big one and when I sleep my bed is a little grave and daisies come out of my mouth. It is very nice, much nicer than slitting my throat like a pig and making people sad. I would not like that so much.

My suggested searches are ‘how much prozacs does it take to…’ and the genie off Alladdin has just killed himself.

Tweets saved in my drafts include:

I really want to kill myself but I also really want a sandwich. Also why is my bus so late.

And:

I will literally pay someone to murder me in my sleep.

I do not post either, I post one that says:

‘Candy Crush has taught me a lot about the inevitability of failure’

I play Candy Crush on the bus to work five minutes after I find out that the Genie off Aladdin has just killed himself. I fail at level twenty-three of Candy Crush for the twenty-third time. I have just turned twenty-three. (I have had my manuscript, Christ the Wolf, rejected considerably more than twenty-three times). I was hoping all that would add up to 666 because that would be sort of cool I guess, but it does not. Facebook notifies me of that boy I’m friends with on Facebook who’s not actually alive anymore is a member of Freecycle and that I should join too. In March I wrote a four-thousand-word essay on some other dead people I knew, it’s now July so I guess that’s not getting published. Shrug. I think I want death more than I want success. But I’m not that good at either, so it’s whatever I guess.

-My blog is less of a portfolio, more of a museum to the rapidly deteriorating state of my mental health. And I am 100% okay with that.

-I thought my skin had a seam, like a jacket, or a pair of jeans, I remembered it didn't-and started to cry.

-I'm not happy. I've never been happy. But maybe happiness isn't the point.

-The banality of mental illness, unchecked to do lists over literary epics.

-My theme song is Sean Kingston singing the word 'suicidal'. On repeat. For all eternity. I'm fun.

And the internet is a sort of eternity, black hole, deep sea, I once said the internet was like an ocean and all the fucked up shit in the deep web was like those David Attenborough sea monsters, and ppl looked at me like I was smart or something, but idk. It is a loop. A spiral. And that essay I wrote on being a survivor, on being a Woody fan girl, keeps looping, keeps on linking to my blog, and those film stills of Woody talking shit about Sylvia Plath, suicide and the college girl mentality keeps looping on tumblr.

I fail again at Candy Crush and the sweets keep pulsating and I’m looking at them like ‘what do you want from me man?’ I post on tumblr:

“i have nothing to offer anyone anymore, not that anyone wanted anything i was offering then but u dont wanna turn up with no bottle even if no ones gonna drink it anywayi just want to die at this point”

Maybe not the best thing I wrote (Christ the Wolf is the best thing I wrote) but I’m still writing and that’s something yeah? I actively resent that the whole #kill-ur-self agenda hasn’t worked out for me yet. And I write a note about the throbbing beans on Candy Crush, I think I can use it in an essay or something. (I don’t) And I think about the Maurice Sendak quote that goes something like ‘I hope I die before you die so I don’t have to miss you’. Too many people have died, I know that to be true, but who was I thinking of in particular? I forget. I forget a lot of things. Maybe it’s the meds. Or maybe it was the drugs. (I miss drugs). I don’t know. I do know that missing pet posters are the saddest, that when you die young you don’t stay pretty you just become a corpse faster, that I’m technically both a genius and a retard (two words that have lost all meaning by this point) and that I’m really fucking bad at Candy Crush. I go to sleep, I go to work, I eat breakfast, I get the bus, I clean my teeth. I want to die. But maybe not necessarily in that order.

Wuornos, pumped full of unrealistic expectations but lacking a marketable skill, endures a series of humiliating job interviews that are made all the worse by her own grating refusal to accept rejection. The movie's most painful scenes illustrate the chasm between the smug workaday world and the demimonde of unsocialized outsiders who are clueless about the job market.

Wednesday, 18 February 2015

the i don't really have any new stuff so im just gonna wear everything at once kinda look

the jacket is from some creepy, creepy, junk shop in York (as seen on my insta here and here), the name label is sewed in, some dude may or not have died in it, i bought it for a quid, so i may or may not have purchased some poor devil's second skin for spare change. (i never said this was an aspirational fashion blog!!) top from Harajuku Fashion,

skirt is from urban outfitters sale, the skirt underneath is (plot twist!) not a skirt but a maxi dress from the children's section of h and m (im short, like really short, i have a theory that all bloggers are short tho)

a sloppy sort of shirt-skirt to match my mood i guess, loose clothes for in between states, I am depressed but I am not suicidal. Therefore I am doing well!

(I think?!)

DH went on sale last weekend (and also sold out last weekend)Amd I am feeling happy with what I wrote for it bout suicidal ideation, I skyped Mikaelyesterday and he read some of it aloud! (I didn't ask him to I'm not that much of an egotist lol). Mikael's essay for the first issue is the one that most closely reflects my current reality. And I love it a lot. The essay I mean. Not my reality.

Speaking of I really like these brain bogeys I pulled out the other day on tumblr:

I like what I do! And I like that people like it! But I am burnt out, like I am a dry dirt hole bomb shell kind of ded post dh launch and stuff so the time for elaborate word talk is not this time but I have been thinking about home, what does home means when you're mental health is very bad, what does home mean in relation to trauma? Child survivor feels? How does it manifest? In heavy layering that drags the dirt? in your favourite jumper? your favourite shoes? or something, somewhere else? I'm too sleepy to even go fake deep on this shit but here is some picture processing for you:

In this issue, as well as y'kno the editor's letter and what not, I wrote an essay on suicidal ideation and digital culture, had some intense real talk with Eline and Ginger about the capitalist pitfalls of self care and the 'treat yo self' narrative, interviewed the author Kate Zambreno about the representations of women and mental health in writing, profiled the a+ art collective the Coven and spoke to the artist Angela Deane about ghosts, photography, grief and memory.

Here's a little video of me flicking through the first issue ^o^

....And some pretty pictures of the journals themselves

Opening them up was a scary situation to embark on alone so I hosted a little google hang out with Cassie, Ginger, Maggie and Cat, all a+ magical girls from the DH editorial team ❤ ❤

Pickle was there too!

And I dressed up because OF COURSE

This angle is super flattering is at allows me to flaunt my deformed spinal cord! Yay! And also owww!

I actually made this dress out of curtain fabric!!

LOOKING INTO THE DISTANCE OF DH'S GLITTERING FUTURE IN A GLITTERING CROWN!! YEAH!!!

p.s I know this blog has been quiet for a few weeks which I hate as blogging is my fave :( But I've been seriously snowed under with phd applications and dh stuff which, though awesome and important, is a huge time suck! But dw I will be back to regular blogging (and also catching up on all your lovely blogs!!) next week!

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is really worth the
trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you
pass them on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and
the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all
these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other
people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have
nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light
within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise,
praise."